


undisclosed desires

by CatAvalon (CazinaIna)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Caught in the Act, Come Eating, Crack Treated Seriously, Domestic, Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Food Sex, Hand Cuffs, Kink Negotiation, Kissing, Light BDSM, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Panty Kink, Public Sex, Unsuccessful Sex, dressing up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 01:23:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18419924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CazinaIna/pseuds/CatAvalon
Summary: “What are you doing?” he asks, and Yuri lets out a small ha of victory when he manages to dig out a notepad and pen from the bottom junk drawer of their dresser.“We,” Yuri enunciates, flopping back onto the bed and ignoring the ache of his still half-hard erection pressing into the covers, “Are going to make a list.”“A list,” Otabek says, back with the repeating. Yuri rolls his eyes and flips to a clean page, chewing on the tip of his pen before he writes sexcapades at the top.“Yeah, of all the things we’ve ever wanted to do in bed,” Yuri says, dotting a bullet point before writing at the rink next to it. “Or out of it.”*Or, Yuri and Otabek's successful- and unsuccessful- Sexcapades.





	undisclosed desires

**Author's Note:**

> bday part two
> 
> also written for the domestic otayuri zine!

Early evening: the dishes have been washed, the laundry has been sorted, and Yuri is currently working off the bowl of cookie dough ice cream he ate at dinner by riding Otabek's dick. It's been a long day; they've been up since half six, and any other night they would already be knocked out, curled up beneath the duvet.It’s Wednesday, though, which means tonight is their scheduled midweek sex night.

_ Scheduled _ . Even as he grinds his hips against Otabek's, Yuri shudders at the thought. Mistaking it as a sign of pleasure, Otabek strokes his fingers down Yuri's side until they're bracing his hip, holding him. Yuri can't help but wish that he'd grab a little tighter, a little harder. He meets Otabek with increased intensity on the next thrust but the message is lost.

They don't speak. Dirty talk has long since been washed away and Yuri misses the times when Otabek would utter filthy things to him in the throes of their passion. There's the occasional  _ Yura,  _ sighed towards the ceiling, and sometimes when Otabek's really feeling it, he will curse God's name before crushing their lips together, but tonight there's nothing. Yuri's eyes drift around the room as he gets lost in the motion, rise and fall, the odd stuttering gasp, but his heart isn't in it. They love each other, they've been together for seven years, but when did security begin to equate to boring?

Before he can stop himself, a yawns tears through his chest and breaks through his lips. He tries to play it as a silent moan, but one glance down shows that he really isn't a great actor. Otabek blinks up at him, looking more concerned than offended. Yuri thinks about painting a white lie,  _ I'm just tired-  _ which is the truth, but not in its entirety. But Otabek deserves more than that, and frankly, Yuri deserves better sex.

"Don't be upset," Yuri says, slowing their pace until he's simply sitting with Otabek's cock still inside him. The space between Otabek's brows becomes furrowed, small lines that have deepened with time creasing his skin. "I'm bored."

"Bored?" Otabek repeats, his hand falling away from Yuri's hip. Yuri looks down at where it lies on top of the duvet, fingers flexing once before stilling.

"Not of you," he's quick to reassure as he holds Otabek's hand. He leans down to kiss him, a chaste thing that ends too quickly for his liking, but he feels like he has a lot of explaining to do. "I just... want  _ more _ ."

"More?" It's as if Otabek's brain has short circuited and he can only repeat the last word Yuri says.

"Don't you ever get bored of eight p.m sex, or setting the alarm fifteen minutes early to blow me in the shower?" Yuri says candidly, pushing away sweat-dampened hair from his face. "I miss being eighteen and never getting enough of each other."

"I'll never get enough of you," Otabek says quietly, not quite managing to hide the hurt that lilts his voice. 

"That's not what I meant," Yuri says, shifting awkwardly on Otabek's thighs. They're twenty-five and twenty-seven, it's been a long time since either of them have been a teenager, but that doesn't mean they can't act like one-  _ love _ like one. Yuri wants adventure. Yuri wants risk. Yuri wants to look in the mirror and see his neck mottled in purple and puce, wants to feel the lingering ache of his lover between his thighs. 

Yuri comes up with an idea. "Hold on." 

He winces as he pulls off of Otabek and rolls off of the mattress. The feel of lube slicking his thighs makes his nose scrunch, but Yuri can't be deterred in his search, not even when Otabek calls his name or sits up in bed and scrubs a hand through his dishevelled hair.

"What are you doing?" he asks, and Yuri lets out a small  _ ha  _ of victory when he manages to dig out a notepad and pen from the bottom junk drawer of their dresser.

" _ We _ ," Yuri enunciates, flopping back onto the bed and ignoring the ache of his still half-hard erection pressing into the covers, "Are going to make a list."

"A list," Otabek says, back with the repeating. Yuri rolls his eyes and flips to a clean page, chewing on the tip of his pen before he writes  _ sexcapades  _ at the top. 

"Yeah, of all the things we've ever wanted to do in bed," Yuri says, dotting a bullet point before writing  _ at the rink  _ next to it. "Or out of it."

"You want me to fuck you at the rink?" 

Yuri wants to laugh at his disbelief but he has a feeling that would only make things worse.

"It doesn't have to be penetration," he says, looping his thumb and forefinger into an  _ O _ and thrusting the tip of the pen through it. When he looks up, Otabek's cheeks are flaming, which is pretty ironic considering Yuri is at eye level with his dick right now. "Come on, we used to do it all the time."

"We were young!" he chokes, bringing his knees to his chest and partially hiding Yuri's view.

"We still are!" Heaving a sigh, Yuri pushes himself up so that they're level, one hand reaching for Otabek's cheek, the other bracing himself on his thigh. "I want to have fun with you, Beka. Just because we're a little older now, it doesn't mean we have to stop. Okay?"

It takes a while for Otabek to process. Yuri watches the progress in his face, the distance in his eyes, the way he draws his lower lip between his teeth and worries it before letting it go with a light smack. It glistens lightly as he says softly, "Okay."

Yuri leans in and kisses him, deeply this time, a slow exchange of breathy moans and twining tongues. He almost forgets that they have an agenda, pushing Otabek down into the mattress and moving to straddle his thighs again, until something sharp digs into the flesh of his calf and Yuri breaks away to see a streak of black against his skin.  _ Right _ . They're making a  _ list _ .

"So," Yuri says, once his pulse has settled down and he has the notebook placed strategically on Otabek's chest. His chin is propped up on his broad shoulder, and Otabek's fingers fan through his hair as he contemplates. "What about you?"

"Uh..." Otabek stills his stroking, nails digging lightly into Yuri's scalp. "Food play?"

"Huh," Yuri vocalises, jotting down below his first thought. "Like whipped cream and chocolate and shit?" Otabek nods. "You wanna eat it off my body?"

"Or the other way around," he chokes out, and Yuri pats his forearm, proud that he's even confessed anything out loud. 

"Okay," he says, punctuating the bullet point with a little cherry and then Otabek's lips with his own.

It takes well over an hour, but they come up with a list full of all the things they've ever wanted to try but have been too afraid to ask. Some of the suggestions are a little tamer, a change in position or location, whilst others are way out of their comfort zone.  _ Are they really, though? _ Yuri muses as he draws little checkboxes next to all of the points. They look daunting on paper, but the reality is that they are all things that they want to try, and most importantly, together.

"We're gonna need to go shopping," he tells Otabek once he sets the notebook down on the nightstand. "Although, I never thought I'd go to the grocery store specifically for sex stuff."

"Yura," Otabek murmurs, embarrassed even though Yuri's just admitted that he kinda, maybe,  _ definitely _ wants Otabek to choke him at some point in the near future.

"Relax," Yuri says, rolling over and wrapping around Otabek so their legs are twined and he's half lying on his chest. "We'll have to make an online order too."

"Yuri," he moans, burying his face in Yuri's hair.

"C'mon, I'm just excited." Yuri can't lie. Listing and discussing all of their undisclosed desires has stirred something sensual within him. He pointedly brushes his bare crotch against Otabek's hip and nips at the shell of his ear. "Aren't you?"

A groan, deep and gravelly, rumbles through Otabek's chest. Yuri takes it as an affirmative.

They don't cross off anything from their list that night, but there's a different air around their actions, thick and sensuously tactile. Yuri rolls to straddle Otabek again, and when he sinks down on him this time, he feels everything, the deep stretch within, the hot brush of Otabek's breath against his clammy skin, the love that bleeds from trailing fingertips and lingering lips, hot and heavy as they roam his body. 

It's the best sex they have had in months, and it's only just begun.

*

Yuri wakes Otabek up in the morning with a blow job, which isn't on the list but is one of his favourite things to do anyway. It's lazy, slow and sloppy in the way Yuri drags his mouth over Otabek's cock and lets spit and semen smear across his face. The first kiss after is what really fuels the sparks of arousal, Otabek sucking the taste of himself off his Yuri's tongue, his lower lip, tracing the splatter with his mouth until Yuri's tasting him all over again.

"Good morning," Yuri says, breathless, when they finally part. He's still hard and untouched but he thinks perhaps he can wait if there is the chance of something more exciting in his future. 

"I love you," Otabek says, staring up at Yuri where he's lying boneless amongst the pillows. He reaches and wipes at the corner of Yuri's mouth with his thumb before slipping it between his lips. 

"I know." Yuri smirks and presses one last lingering kiss to Otabek's forehead before he rolls away from him. The notepad is exactly where he left it, albeit nudged closer to the edge of the table with wandering limbs in sleep. "So, what do you want to do first?"

"Don't you want me to return the favour?" He glances at the alarm clock on his side- they still have ten minutes before they're supposed to be up, plenty of time for a quick handjob, maybe something more if they get on with it right now- but Yuri shrugs, staring back down at the list.

"Not right now," he says, even though his arousal is making it kinda hard to focus on his own scrawling handwriting. "This, on the other hand." 

He points to a bullet point and cocks his head, raising a brow at Otabek. 

"What, today?" he says, pupils blown. He shuffles until he's leaning against the headboard, sheets spilling around his bare waist, and bends to pick up a mewling Potya who has just pattered into the room.

"Yeah?" Yuri says, eyes narrowing. He takes the offering of squirming white fur, lips pursed, as he gauges Otabek's reaction. "Is that a problem?"

Colour ruddies Otabek's cheeks, seeping down his neck and into his sternum. He reaches over and strokes behind Potya's ear before resting his hand over where Yuri’s own is buried in her fur. 

"No."

*

Wrong.

It's a big problem. Or, at least, it becomes one. Everything goes well at first: they go to the rink, they skate, they carefully plan for their break to be at the same time and nonchalantly slip away into the locker room. They're kissing before the door swings closed; Yuri's hands are down Otabek's pants before his back hits the row of lockers behind him.

"God," Otabek hisses into Yuri's mouth when he pushes down the elastic of his training leggings and frees his cock. Yuri strokes him with strong, sure flicks of his wrist, mouthing at Otabek's jaw and nipping at the jut of the bone. After a few minutes of teasing, fingers skimming the underside of Otabek's cock to scratch at the dark hair at his navel, Yuri winds his arms around his neck. Luckily, he takes the hint. " _ Jump _ ."

Yuri doesn't need to be told twice; his knees bend, and Otabek's there to catch him. The bang of his hips slamming into the metal is deafening as Otabek kisses him into the lockers, pawing at his ass as Yuri digs his heels into the small of Otabek's back. Their arousals press together until it becomes unbearable, and Yuri reaches a hand between them to free himself, wrapping his fingers around them and tugging until their kisses become nothing more but messy gasps into each other's mouths.

"Fuck me," Yuri pants, resting his forehead against Otabek's to try and calm his ragged breathing. He kisses the tip of Otabek's nose, the crest of his cupid's bow, before finally landing home against his mouth. " _ Please _ ."

"But..." Otabek trails off, and Yuri knows where his thoughts have strayed-  _ lube _ .

"I'm good from last night," he promises, nuzzling their noses together before pulling away and biting his swollen lower lip. "And I may have fingered myself in the shower."

" _ Yura _ ."

It's quick from there on out. Otabek lowers down long enough to tug down his leggings before bracing him back up against the wall. Two fingers dip inside him, testing, before being replaced by the blunt head of Otabek's cock. Yuri clenches around him experimentally, raking his nails against Otabek's scalp as he pulls him down sharply. They both hiss as Yuri bottoms out, chests heaving. Yuri rests his head back against the locker and blinks up at the flickering fluorescent light above him, wondering how on earth he got so lucky; not just good  _ cock _ , but a good  _ person _ .

The pace they set is rough at first. It's been a long time since they've had wall sex so they're a little rusty, but somehow it just makes the experience that much hotter. Yuri swears he's going to get bruises along his spine from the jagged hinges digging into his back, but it's worth it to feel the power in Otabek's arms, the strength coiled within his beautiful muscles as he drags Yuri up and down his cock. The air in the room becomes hot, heady with the scent of sex and sweat and carrying the sounds of their shared sighs and soft swears. Yuri's pulse thuds heavy in his ear, accompanied by the air in his lungs being fucked out of him.

It's probably why he doesn't hear the scrape of a door opening, the first quiet murmurs of conversation.

Otabek's lips find their way to Yuri's neck, and then his teeth are biting down hard. It's a weakness of his and Otabek knows it, as his mouth continues to work and Yuri's orgasm builds until his head is tilting back and he's bucking up into the fist Otabek has around him.

He never thought he'd come looking into Mila's eyes, but it happens today. Beka's name begins to fall from his tongue before it shudders to a stop halfway, cut off with a squawk even as Yuri continues to spill over Otabek's fingers.

"Oh, my  _ G _ _ od _ ," Mila says, eyes wide and searching.

"Oh, my God," Otabek says, freezing within Yuri. He's come, though; Yuri feels his cock twitching with aftershock, can feel the wet heat deep inside him.

And Yuri, the only one who seems to have a shred of sense left in him even though he's kinda just been fucked sense _ less _ , shouts, "Get the fuck out!"

So yeah, it becomes a big problem. Otabek helps Yuri back down to his feet, but he ends up leaking release all over his leggings. He kinda wants to cry, kinda wants to scream, but what he ends up doing is stripping and standing under a barely lukewarm shower as Otabek reluctantly slinks away to do damage control and grab a clean set of clothes from Yuri's training bag.

It takes longer to clean up without a detachable shower head, and when he's done he sulks on the wet tile floor until Otabek returns. He's still blushing but wearing a different shirt, and Yuri's not sure if he wants to know. It's not as if he's embarrassed- fucking  _ look _ at Otabek, how could he be- but sex has always been something he's considered a two person party, and he's never wanted to share the intimacy of his climax with anyone else.

So yeah, he's pretty fucking bummed that something he was looking forward to turned out this way.

"Do they all know?" he asks, dragging himself up from the floor. Otabek holds out a towel and Yuri wraps it around his waist. He wants to seek comfort, can see that Otabek does too, but he doesn't know whether he wants to be touched right now.

"No," Otabek says, which Yuri doesn't find believable. He shakes his damp hair out and yanks the shirt waiting for him on the bench over his head. "She wants to talk to you, though."

" _ Fuck _ ," Yuri spits out, dragging his nails over his scalp. He sinks down onto the bench and Otabek follows him, easily accommodating him when Yuri buries his face in his shoulder. His hand raises to unconsciously rub at the ache in his neck Otabek's mouth left behind; it's going to bruise, Yuri can feel it. 

"I'm sorry," Otabek says, which sounds stupid and wrong, so Yuri tells him so.

"I was the one who wanted this," he emphasises. "I should have been the one to think things through."

"Still," Otabek says, kissing lightly at Yuri's hairline. "I could have said something."

He shrugs against Otabek's shoulder, not quite able to find the words to say  _ yeah you could, but it doesn't matter because it's my fault anyway.  _ He thinks the sigh he heaves into the skin of Otabek's neck sums it up pretty well though.

"Come on," he says eventually, when the lingering shame simmers down to the barest ache in his chest. "I'd rather not have Yakov come look for us."

*

They talk about it when they get home, after Yuri's sat down with Mila and listened to her reassurances.  _ Your secret’s safe with me _ , she'd told him, raising a finger to her lips.  _ Can I give you some advice, though? _

Yuri had shut her down before she could continue.

"So," Yuri begins, dragging his fork through the remnants of rice on his plate. They're sat on opposite ends of the sofa which would feel all sorts of wrong if Potya wasn't curled up between them. "How are you feeling?"

"Mortified," Otabek says, spearing a stalk of broccoli and chewing on it as a blush rises and falls from his cheeks. He's quiet for a long time, jaw working slowly before finally swallowing. He shifts his plate to the coffee table and turns so that they're fully facing, and when Yuri sheepishly meets his gaze, there's a hardness in his eyes, resolute. "Mistakes happen, though."

Yuri sucks his lower lip between his teeth, contemplating. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't affected by what happened at the rink, but that hasn't stopped him from wanting to continue exploring new things with Otabek- he just hopes that the feeling is mutual. 

Releasing his lip, Yuri takes a deep breath and asks, "So you wanna keep going?"

"Of course," Otabek says as if the answer is obvious. "When have we ever given up on something that doesn't work out the first time?"

Well, when he puts it  _ that _ way. Yuri just wasn't sure if the same mentality that they put into training and skating could be used, but he can't deny that he's relieved that Otabek feels the same way.

"Let's give it a little time, though," he says, unfurling himself from the sofa to take their plates out into the kitchen. Otabek follows him, lightly slapping his ass and nipping at Yuri's neck when he stops at the sink and turns the taps on. Arms come around to brace him against the countertop, and Yuri turns so he can thread his fingers in Otabek's hair. "I was going to say we need a little time to recover, but you're kind of proving me otherwise."

He pulls Otabek down to kiss him, ignoring the way water seeps into the back of his shirt from the puddles around the sink. They get distracted as the basin fills until Yuri's afraid the water's going to overflow, and even when he turns to begin washing up, Otabek's teasing his throat with his mouth and dipping his fingers into the waistband of Yuri's sweats.

It's when a familiar hardness presses into the curve of his ass that an intrusive question pops into Yuri's head.

"You didn't...  _ like _ being caught, did you?" he asks slowly, tilting his head to give Otabek better access to his collar. Otabek doesn't exactly still, but his kisses become lighter, lingering and the fingers stroking the downy hair at his pubic bone pull up until they're resting innocently at Yuri's waist. 

"Would you mind if I did?" Otabek counters. He doesn't seem ashamed- not that he has any reason to be. The whole part of them doing this together is to find new ways to have  _ fun _ .

"No," Yuri says with a shrug. He drops the last plate on the drying rack and steps away, wiping his hands on the back of his thighs. It's true- he doesn't mind Otabek being into exhibitionism, but Yuri's not sure if he's all the way there yet. "It's just not something I'd feel comfortable exploring again any time soon."

"That's okay," Otabek's quick to reassure, stroking Yuri's cheek. "I only want what you want."

Which makes things pretty easy, because Yuri just wants Otabek.

*

They don't try anything from the list for another week, partly due to their busy schedule, but also because there's a mutual understanding that they should take things easy. Their exchanges are soft and sensual, bathed in early sunshine or shrouded in the starlit veil of dusk. There really isn't anything wrong with it, gentle touches and body worship, but as the days roll on and the memory of the locker room lingers in his mind, Yuri finds he wants something deeper, darker.

It comes in the form of a delivery, an unmarked cardboard box full of items they'd picked out online together. Yuri tells Otabek to surprise him, and the phrase becomes a little more literal than he first thought. He finds himself blindfolded, hands cuffed to a bedpost and legs spread wide. They rarely use safe words but they come out now; Yuri finds it fitting that  _ Mila _ means stop, chosen years ago because of her red hair, though he's not sure how he feels about using her name during sexual scenarios anymore.

"You okay?" Otabek asks close to his ear. Yuri feels the heat of his breath dancing over his skin, followed by the brush of his lips. The feeling's intensified with his lack of sight, the gentle scrape of Otabek's stubble, the stir of his own hair dragging against his neck.  

"Yeah," Yuri breathes, testing the cuffs around his wrists. They clink against the metal of his bedpost, obnoxiously loud in the otherwise quiet room. He still doesn't know what they're doing, but it's the thrill of the unknown that sparks hot excitement in the pit of his stomach. 

The mattress shifts around him and Yuri can hear Otabek's footfalls across the carpet. A drawer opens- lube, Yuri's assuming- and then the bed creaks as Otabek joins him again, between his legs this time. "You ready?"

Even though he doesn't know what he's consenting to Yuri nods. He trusts Otabek, with his life and otherwise, and knows no matter what he has planned, he'll treat Yuri with the same love and tenderness he always does. "Yeah."

For a moment, there's nothing. Yuri strains his remaining senses to try and build a picture of what's going on. His only giveaway is Otabek's steady breathing, the way the sheets move beneath him as he repositions himself. And then, a kiss at his ankle, a small fluttering thing that Yuri barely feels yet leaves warmth lingering in absence of touch. Otabek's fingers wrap around Yuri's foot and raises it, and his mouth trails over the skin of his shin, moving around to the muscle in his calf that jumps lightly beneath the pressure. 

It's a soft pleasure that begins to build, a feathered warmth that seeps through his veins as Otabek moves higher yet still kisses him with the same refined delicacy. He spends an eternity between Yuri's thighs, licking at the apex where his legs meet his groin but never once giving attention to the hardness that rests against Yuri's stomach. He understands now the reason for the handcuffs. Without them, Yuri would be tugging at Otabek's hair, dragging him upwards or, failing that, touching himself.

"Beka," he whines, the first sound to break from his throat apart from breathy moans and the occasional whimpering sigh.

"Patience, Yura," Otabek hums against his hip, nipping at the jut of the bone before mouthing his way to Yuri's navel. There's a hot wetness at his belly button and Yuri realises he's licking him, dipping his tongue into the cavity before running it down to where his cock lays straining. Still, Otabek doesn't touch him. His breath skims the sensitive skin at his cock head, and just when Yuri thinks he's going to get the sweet release of a mouth wrapped around him, he moves elsewhere, suckling at the inside of one of his thighs.

"Please," Yuri begs, fighting against his bindings. He's going crazy with nothing to focus on but his thoughts and the warm, insistent pressure of Otabek's tongue against him. " _ Beka _ ."

Otabek shushes him, smoothing his hands up Yuri's sides until they rest at his aching shoulders. He massages the straining muscle until Yuri relaxes under his ministrations, nuzzling against his stomach and murmuring something so soft Yuri can't hear it beneath the beat of his heart in his ears. After a few minutes, Otabek retreats and Yuri lies in the remains of his warmth, flinching slightly as a plastic  _ crack _ splits the air.

"What's that?" Yuri asks, trying to place the noise. He's oddly disorientated without a picture for the source in his mind, even if it sounds familiar.

"Just lube," Otabek answers.  _ Duh _ , Yuri thinks, rolling his eyes beneath the blindfold. He can hear the wetness of it now, the squelch of it squeezing from the bottle and onto, hopefully, Otabek's fingers. 

The first touch is colder than Yuri's expecting; the lube hasn't taken on heat from Otabek's skin. A finger slips in with little resistance- Yuri thinks it's a middle finger though he can't be sure- and teases his rim before being joined by another.

"You don't need to prep me," Yuri comments, impatient after just a minute of shallow thrusting and the occasional kiss to his trembling thigh.

"I'm not prepping you," Otabek says, and to prove his point he curls his fingers within him. The handcuffs screech against the bedpost as Yuri's back arches.

Yuri thinks he knows exactly what they're doing from the list now.

He's never been one for teasing, torturously prolonging an orgasm that is both wanted or needed. What's the point in prolonging the inevitable? But he'd written it down on the list-  _ edging.  _ Mainly, it's because he wants to see what the hype is all about, but Otabek had seemed pretty interested in taking Yuri to the precipice and back, never quite letting him fall.

It works, Yuri supposes, because Otabek knows his body so well, can see the signs of Yuri's building pleasure and tell when he's right on the edge. It probably helps that Yuri's begging for it in a way he never thought he would. His first climax builds quickly after being worked up for so long, Otabek's fingers massaging deep inside him and his mouth sucking at the saltiness that leaks onto his stomach from his cock. Yuri clenches helplessly around him, hips thrusting for friction that he can't seem to find, and whines when Otabek draws away just as the pleasure builds in his groin.

"I know what you're doing," Yuri accuses, because at least he can be tied up, edged and  _ right _ . His chest heaves with each laboured pant, blinding arousal fading to a tingling that seeps through his body until Yuri can feel it in his teeth.

"I never said you didn't," Otabek retorts, slapping lightly at the flesh of his hip. It's just enough sting to cut through the pleasure, and joined by the dull scrape of Otabek running his nails up each jut of rib bone, there's enough attention elsewhere for Yuri to not think about the aching in his groin. 

Yuri inhales, short and sharp, when Otabek thumbs at a nipple. He feels it harden under Otabek's touch until it’s almost sore, and just as Yuri's about to beg for something, anything else, warm lips move over his chest, tongue licking and soothing. 

If this is supposed to be a distraction, it's a bad one. Yuri's not ashamed to admit that he's more sensitive than most, and the heady attention Otabek devotes to his chest has Yuri's hips stuttering against the bed sheets. Whilst he can't do anything with his arms, his legs are still free, and he blindly wraps them around Otabek's body, grinding up and meeting  _ something;  _ it could be a leg, could be his stomach but at this point, Yuri doesn't care.

"Yura," Otabek scolds, breath cooling the saliva against his skin. 

"Please," is all he's able to say, barely coherent. His wrists strain and he uselessly clenches his fingers into fists, wishing there is something other than air between them. A pillow, the bed sheets perhaps, but what Yuri really wants is to knot them into Otabek's hair and guide his head down to his cock. 

He thinks for one delicious second that Otabek might finally do what Yuri desperately desires. His nose trails a soft line down from his sternum to his stomach, and Yuri feels the first hot touch of his mouth surrounding his cockhead. Yuri cries out in relief, thrusting into the heat, but it's short lived. Otabek pulls off of him with a lewd smack, and when Yuri groans in frustration, he has the audacity to chuckle. 

"Beka, I love you," Yuri says, voice husky and strained, "but please stop fucking  _ teasing _ me."

"That's the whole point," Otabek deadpans, and then his fingers are inside him again. 

Pleasure builds under Otabek's unrelenting touch, and though it's easy to ignore in favour of his sexual excitement, Yuri's beginning to feel uncomfortable. The cuffs are lined, but they're still going to leave bruises, and Yuri feels impossibly hot. He can feel sweat clinging to his body, exposed to the heavy air cloyed with the scent of arousal. He licks his upper lip and the tang of salt lingers on his tongue.

Just as Yuri thinks he's finally going to get release, Otabek's fingers retreat. They thrust shallowly into him, a promise of what could be, occasionally brushing his prostate, but now that Yuri's there, it's all play and no  _ bite,  _ despite the teeth burying marks of love into his thigh.

Yuri could scream from frustration. He  _ does _ scream, an awful sound he didn't ever think he'd make, pining and pathetic. Otabek's lying across one leg and holding the other down so Yuri can't even lash out like he longs to, shaking beneath the weight of it and leaving his breath stuttering in his throat.

"Let me see you at least," he bargains. In his resistance, the blindfold has slipped down his face, and Yuri can see strips of light but nothing else. "Please, Beka, let me see you."

He doesn't think anything's going to happen; Otabek's fingers skim his prostate once more, making Yuri shudder, before he's pulling out. The mattress jostles, and then black bleeds to blinding. Yuri blinks up at the ceiling, into the blurred mass above him until Otabek's face comes into focus.

"Hey," he breathes, shaking hair out of his eyes.

"Hey," Otabek says just as gently, brushing the stray strands away with the hand that isn't covered in lube. He thumbs lightly at Yuri's cheek, and Yuri can't help but lean into his palm, craving softness despite the devastating hardness between his legs. He looks between them at himself. His body has never looked so pathetic, red and blotchy, a mess of sweat-slicked skin and precome.

"Kiss me, then," Yuri says, dragging his attention back to what's in front of him. Otabek smiles softly and is quick to comply, kissing the salt from Yuri's mouth and running his tongue over the puncture marks embedded into his lower lip. 

"Beautiful," Otabek says when he pulls away. A thread of saliva still connects them, but he doesn't break it. Instead, it splits when he reaches up to finger the metal encompassing Yuri's wrists.

"Take them off?" Yuri asks, rattling the cuffs against the bed frame. "I wanna touch you."

Otabek huffs and shakes his head. For a moment, Yuri doesn't think he's going to do it. He stares down at Yuri with this smirk he's finding hard to interpret before rolling across the mattress. The keys are kept on the bedside table, which Yuri's a little disappointed with. Surely he could have thought of a more creative place to put them, like down his boxers, and Yuri can only free himself if he can find them with his mouth...

_ Too far _ .

He holds his breath as the key catches in the first latch and lets it out in a stuttery sigh of relief when he's finally freed. Otabek catches his wrists before Yuri can even think of moving them, raising them to his lips and kissing at the redness with a tenderness that makes Yuri's heart ache.

"I love you," Otabek murmurs against his skin, running his mouth over Yuri's palm and up to where he'd wear a ring if they were married. It's so intimately sentimental, Yuri almost forgets the straining ache between his thighs.

_ Almost _ .

Once he's done with gentle affection, Otabek reaches between them and finally strokes Yuri's cock, slow and sweet, thumbing at the head to collect the wetness gathered there and smearing it down his length. Yuri keens into the touch, using his now free hands to drag Otabek down by the neck into a searing kiss. Their mouths don't align right, but Yuri doesn't care because he thinks Otabek's finally going to let him come. His hand continues to move over his cock just the way Yuri likes it, and the other reaches up to cup his face and shift their position so their lips finally fit just right. 

Soon Yuri finds that he's more gasping into Otabek's mouth rather than kissing, thrusting up to meet every stroke and pulling at Otabek's hair, spurring him on. He's close, can feel it buzzing in his bones, and he's ready to finally let go. He makes a small noise in the back of his throat, the only warning he can muster when his mouth is busy with more important things, and just when he thinks Otabek's ready to finally give him release, he clamps down hard at the base of Yuri's cock.

" _ Ah _ !" Yuri chokes out, a shout curdling into a scream. His nails dig deep into Otabek's scalp, and he pulls away with a glare that makes Yuri feel almost bad. He releases his grip, but Otabek doesn't let up on his own, and when Yuri stares down between them his cock is red and angry, straining in Otabek's golden fist. "Beka,  _ please _ ."

"It'll be worth it, Yura," he promises, and Yuri almost asks how the fuck he knows that but he's distracted by the downright painful way Otabek still holds him. He wonders just exactly how much pleasure he's taking in seeing Yuri like this, shaking, sweating, straining beneath him. He shifts a little as if sensing Yuri's track of thought, revealing an erection still clothed in cotton, a wet spot bleeding against the front of his briefs. 

"For me or for you?" Yuri huffs, sliding his hands down Otabek's chest. His fingers twitch to touch himself but instead, he hooks them into the waistband of Otabek's underwear and tugs until the head of his cock is free.

Otabek doesn't grace Yuri with a response, but he does use his free hand to push his briefs down the rest of the way down his thighs. Even after seven years, Yuri's lips still part at the sight of Otabek's cock, long and uncut, thicker than it has any right to be. His hips jump and Otabek squeezes him tighter into submission. Normally Yuri's the one to assert dominance in the bedroom, and seeing Otabek flaunt newfound confidence is erotic. He watches, breath held, as Otabek undresses all the way and reaches for the uncapped lube disregarded beside him. 

Yuri clenches in anticipation.

The first slide is hot, hard, pushing all the air out of Yuri's lungs. His body sears as if already strained to overstimulation and when Yuri's eyes flutter closed, when his head tilts back and Otabek mouths at his exposed throat, he sees pulses of white in time with each pointed snap of Otabek's hips. 

"Yura," Otabek breathes in his ear, and Yuri doesn't know if he'll survive if Otabek winds him up again but fails to let him fall. "So  _ good _ ."

"Touch me," he begs, digging his fingers into the meat of Otabek's shoulders. "Please."

"Patience," Otabek says again, almost hypocritical in his actions. His hips snap, and he takes and takes and takes, driving into Yuri and stealing his laboured breath in kisses that leave his head swimming. 

It doesn't take long before the rhythmic fluidity of his pace begins to stutter. Yuri looks up to see Otabek's brow drawn, his lip captured between his teeth. He grunts a little from exertion, hair sticking to his sweat-slicked forehead, and entwines their fingers beside Yuri's head.

"Together," Yuri gasps, his final plea. He feels Otabek's hand on him, bucks into the delicious friction for an embarrassingly short amount of time, and then he's coming so hard it hurts. His vision whites out, and he can vaguely hear Otabek calling his name before the world is drowned out with waves of intense pleasure.

He comes to an indefinite amount of time later. Otabek's already curled around his side, head pillowed on Yuri's shoulder and fingers stroking absently up his sides. He shudders at the sensation, every synapse beneath his skin sensitive and raw. 

"You okay?" Otabek asks, pressing a kiss to Yuri's collarbone.

Yuri simply nods, sated and satisfied, and lets his eyes drift closed again.

*

"I don't like that smile," Yuri says, prodding Otabek in the chest with a sudsy toe. It's a small, blink and you'll miss it thing, but it's smug, and Yuri knows Otabek's going to hold being right about being  _ patient _ over him for a long time.

"I know you don't," Otabek retorts, capturing his ankles and tugging until Yuri's all but submerged in the water, bubbles bobbing just below his nose. "You love it."

_ God _ .

Otabek is the least arrogant person Yuri knows and yet, hidden in the secrets of their bedroom, he sometimes spouts the cockiest sentimentalities. And he's right- Yuri  _ does _ love it, because it's a part of him only he gets to see, loosened from lovemaking and comfortable in a way only Yuri can make him.

It doesn't make it any less annoying, though.

"I thought you were supposed to be taking care of me," Yuri complains, wriggling back up the bath wall and peeling sodden hair away from his eyes. 

"I am," Otabek says, gesturing around them. Whilst Yuri was still basking in the afterglow, he'd lit an array of tea lights that flicker gold against the tiles and had even used a bath bomb with glitter in despite knowing it'll cling to every crack and crevice the water licks. It's a nice thought, Yuri can admit that, but what he craves is tenderness, not the teasing lilt that colours his tone, and the half-hour they spent tangled together didn't entirely sate that desire.

So he takes matters into his own hands, ignoring the questioning part of Otabek's lips as he pushes forwards to kiss him. It's chaste in comparison to their previous exchanges, slow and seeped with sleepy satiety, but it's enough to make Yuri sigh as he moves. He winces lightly against Otabek's mouth when the movement causes the sore muscles with him to pull, but with gentle hands guiding his hips and legs that spread easily without question, Yuri's finally where he belongs, at home in Otabek's arms, his broad chest flush against his back.

"Better?" Otabek asks, pressing a kiss into Yuri's hair. He runs his palms down Yuri's biceps and lower still until their hands brush, and Yuri hums as their fingers interlock.

"I suppose so," Yuri says, pouting despite the smile that threatens to break his facade. He loves how they look together, the way Otabek's thick thighs press against his own, how they can be like this, wet and naked, without any expectations except just  _ being _ together. "I love you."

Otabek huffs, hot against the damp skin of Yuri's neck. "I love you, too."

And then, just when Yuri thinks he can drift in peace, "So, what's next on the agenda?"

*

They should have learnt from the first time that not everything goes well. With newfound confidence from their latest successes, it's not long before they try their next act, and it's only because the produce is going off.

"I love you, Beka, but there's a line I won't cross, and that's brown bananas," Yuri says the next morning, prodding at the bunch lying in their fruit bowl.

They go to practice as usual, but when Yuri prepares dinner that night he prepares other ingredients that definitely don't belong in their tofu curry: sticky cherries, halved and pitted, whipped cream and marshmallows, chunks of chocolate over a pan of water, waiting to be melted. The ultimate cheat day, Yuri captions it, as he observes the chaos around him. It's a good thing that they've got extra cardio planned tomorrow because it looks like Yuri's going to need it.

When Yuri serves himself a smaller serving of rice, Otabek's quick to question it.

"I'm saving room," Yuri says, licking sauce from his fork in a way he hopes is suggestive. "For dessert."

Otabek blushes a deep crimson but eats with a new vigour.

It's not even seven before they're in the bedroom, Otabek naked and spread across the mattress and Yuri in nothing but a frilly apron and a chef’s hat. The assortment of sweets lie in wait on the dresser, and Yuri has to shut Potya out after she jumps up and starts licking at the cream, heaven forbid she starts snacking on the places Yuri plans to smother it over Otabek's body.

"Don't you think this is a little weird?" Yuri asks as he drizzles chocolate over Otabek's chest. He's not hard yet, but his cock twitches in interest as the warmth trails lower. 

"Isn't sex weird in general?" Otabek retorts, rolling his shoulders. Yuri smears chocolate over the tip of his nose and decorates Otabek's nipples with two plump cherries.

Yes, he concludes, it is. 

He supposes it is slightly sensual, mixing two of life's greatest pleasures into one. And honestly, Yuri will take any excuse possible to smooth his tongue over every inch of Otabek's abdominals, whether he’s tasting sugar or sweat on his lips. Otabek seems to enjoy it enough, anyway, especially when Yuri sucks him off by eating whipped cream off of his cock. 

"What about here?" Yuri asks, thumbing at Otabek's hole. The times he's rimmed Otabek are few and far between, but when Otabek's in the mood for it, he's  _ really _ in the mood for it. He doesn't say anything, but he does roll onto his stomach, baring himself fully. Yuri smirks at his eagerness and begins to smear cream over his entrance, biting at his ass before licking a long strip from his perineum all the way to the small of Otabek's back.

That's when he notices it; Otabek's body pressing into the mattress, the towel they put down for safety bunched up beside him.

"Oh, my God," Yuri yelps, brushing cream from his face with his forearm. Otabek's head whips around and he looks so startled Yuri would feel bad if his goddamn Versace sheets weren't smeared with brown stains. "Get up! Get up, you're not on the towel!"

Yuri never thought he'd be furiously searching twenty-four hour dry cleaners in nothing but a chef's hat, but here he is, scouring google before reluctantly calling Viktor; he's sure to have had a disaster like this, after all. Otabek keeps on apologising like it's his fault and it wasn't Yuri who initiated and in the end, Yuri has to send him away to shower off so he can strip the bed and get changed before Viktor arrives. 

"What happened?" he asks when Yuri shoves the balled up sheets into Viktor's arms.

"Nothing," Yuri mumbles, wincing as Viktor inspects the damage.

"Versace?" he asks, and Yuri nods solemnly. "You know you can't dry clean these, right?"

"Oh, my God they were forty thousand rubles," Yuri moans, and he doesn't even complain when Viktor wraps an arm around him and pats his shoulder. Potya rubs her head against his ankles, trying to soothe her distressed owner. Yuri doesn't even have the energy to pet her. 

"Don't worry about it," Viktor says, squeezing Yuri's bicep. "I'll see if my Yuuri can help."

He leaves with a plastic bag and a promise to call later, and when Yuri finally sulks back into the bedroom he's greeted with fresh sheets and Otabek's open arms.

"I can't do anything right," Yuri whines, burying his face in Otabek's chest. "I didn't even get to rim you."

"I don't mind," he reassures, stroking his fingers through Yuri's hair.

"Yeah, but I do." He's ruined their evening through lack of planning and an impromptu temper tantrum, and that's all on him- but he  _ can _ try and fix it. After a last, self-indulgent sniff, Yuri pulls himself together enough to lean into Otabek's ear and murmur, "Let me make it up to you."

Which is how they cross another thing off their list; lingerie. 

Yuri had been against the idea when they'd gone shopping, fingering the lace between uncertain fingers and wondering just how comfortable it'd feel disappearing up his backside. Now that he's wearing it though, a thong that barely contains his genitalia, a suspender belt and thigh highs, he has to admit he looks damn fucking  _ good _ . There was a part of him that was worried he'd look too feminine- he still bristles at some of the Russian Fairy comments that get thrown his way- but his bulge looks obscene stretching beneath the fabric, and the translucent tights deepen the definition of his thigh muscles.

_ Nice _ .

The last part is unplanned. Mila and Yuri just so happen to have the same shoe size, so when Yuri asked earlier in the week to borrow a pair of Louboutins no questions asked, she'd only raised a slender brow before bringing a shoebox to the rink the next day. He's unused to the extra height, but he appreciates the clack of the heels on the tile and the extra length it adds to his legs. 

Otabek's jaw drops when the door opens. 

"Well?" Yuri says, though he has to grit his teeth as he walks. He's unused to his shifted centre of gravity, but he'd be damned if he's gonna show Otabek that he's unsteady on his feet.  _ Think sexy _ ,  _ Plisetsky _ , he muses and promptly stumbles as he twirls.

It's a good thing Yuri’d brought duplicates because the panties are ruined by the end of the night. Otabek refuses to take them off, mouthing at Yuri's clothed erection and grinding against him until he comes, then finding his own release by pulling the string aside and fucking him. It's filthy, almost primal, animal instincts dressed in leopard print heels, crossed at the ankle behind Otabek's neck. When he comes, it's hot and messy over the front of Yuri's already soiled underwear.

And then he does the unthinkable.

He slips the lace off, dragging the fabric slowly against Yuri's still-sensitive cock and making him hiss. Otabek kisses his red, slick head before pulling the panties down the rest of the way. Yuri watches him through lowered lashes, inhaling sharply when he brings the lace to his mouth, his soul ascending to heaven with the gasp he lets out when Otabek begins suckling on the fabric.

"Fucking disgusting," Yuri says, not out of spite, but amazement. "Look at you, Beka, you're so fucking  _ filthy _ ."

Otabek hums, meeting his eyes as his tongue swirls around the string and then at the cum that's smeared over his fingers. Unable to resist, Yuri pushes up and Otabek meets him halfway, the taste of them together clinging to his mouth. Yuri devours it, swallows it down as if starved, bites Otabek's lip and tugs his hair until they're moaning against each other. Otabek draws away for a moment, and he's pulling the fabric taut over his lips, cum still clinging to the lace. Yuri takes the hint and kisses him through it, and it's unlike anything he's experienced, a concoction of texture and taste that has his head spinning and his cock aching hard again. He catches his teeth on the mesh and tears it, gaining access to Otabek's tongue once again.

"What the fuck are we doing?" Yuri breathes, nuzzling against Otabek's cheek. He can feel saliva and semen drying to his face, and he licks at a patch he can reach smeared against Otabek's jaw.

"I don't know," Otabek confesses, but he's wrapping a hand around them, stroking until Yuri's moaning and rocking up against him.  "It's pretty hot, though."

Yuri  _ definitely _ agrees. 

He reaches behind him and tugs off the heels so he can sit comfortably in Otabek's lap, biting at his throat as Otabek jerks them off with a dry fist. The friction sears Yuri's over-stimulated skin, so he pulls Otabek away so he can spit on his palm and shudders when Otabek does it too. It only relieves the burn minutely, but it's enough for Yuri to enjoy it without having to grit his teeth. 

He feels his second orgasm deep in his bones, white-hot and crackling, lightning striking twice. He slumps over Otabek's shoulder as he milks them dry, keening as he feels Otabek twitching against his already softening cock, a second heat seeping over his skin. He feels gross, but in the best way, stale sweat and sex, a deep exhaustion he can feel in his core. He's not even mad that they've ruddied brand new sheets, has completely forgotten about the earlier disaster. His body screams for a shower, maybe a shot of vodka to take the edge away from the ache in his ass.

"I've already showered twice today," Otabek complains when Yuri instructs him to carry him to the bathroom.

"Tough shit." They don't even stand, instead sprawling on the floor and letting the water wash over them. Yuri can feel himself falling asleep, especially when Otabek gives him a scalp massage as he lathers shampoo into his hair.

It's always in the aftercare when Yuri feels it most, Otabek's loyal devotion and adoration, and he feels it now after their rough couple of rounds in gentle soapy kisses and murmured confessions of love. He thinks he prefers this more, in some ways, the simple intimacy of an unaroused body around him, honest words and touches, the chance to be vulnerable outside of sex.

He's so fucking lucky to have him; the realisation never ceases to make his chest tighten.

They wash off quickly when it becomes apparent Yuri really is willing to fall asleep then and there, and Otabek sheepishly throws the used underwear in the trash as Yuri settles as far away from the wet spot as he can. Before joining him, Otabek lets Potya back into their room and she promptly curls up next to Yuri's head, claws dangerously close to the delicate skin of his face but he's lived with her long enough to know she'll never catch him.

"Hey," Otabek murmurs once he's finally beneath the covers, stroking the tip of Potya's nose before echoing the action on Yuri's own. 

Yuri huffs and catches Otabek's hand, linking their fingers together and holding them against his cheek. "Hey."

"I'm sorry about the sheets," he says for the umpteenth time, but Yuri can hear the joking lilt to his voice.

"Again," Yuri smirks, glancing down at the new stain they made. Come, he knows from great experience, is much easier to get out of cotton than chocolate.

" _ Again _ ." He smiles down at Yuri and kisses his forehead, lips lingering and breath stirring the hair at his temple. It's quiet for a long time, and Yuri feels his eyes drooping despite the drag of Otabek's thumb smoothing circles into his cheekbone.  "We're really making a mess of things, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Yuri snorts sleepily, a rumble of contained laughter thrumming though Otabek's chest and into his own. "But you know what? I kinda like it being imperfect."

Otabek hums as he kisses him softly. "Me too."

*

There's an intervention of sorts at the rink the next day. Mila and Viktor stare them down, smug and smirking above them as they lace up their skates. 

"We've been discussing you two," Viktor begins, raising a finger to his lips. Yuri tugs at the collar of his turtleneck- his throat is so bruised he couldn't get away with wearing anything else. "And we think you need to... tone down your extra-curricular activities."

Yuri swallows thickly and feels Otabek tensing beside him. His hand falls to Yuri's thigh, knuckles white as he squeezes. When Yuri glances back up, Mila is looking straight at him.  _ Oh, my God,  _ she mouths, then snickers as if their humiliation is the funniest thing in the world.

"You said you wouldn't tell anyone!" Yuri seethes, and the only thing keeping him down is the weight of Otabek's palm pressing into his leg.

"Viktor is a nobody, Yurochka, he doesn't count," Mila retorts, rolling her eyes. There's a moment of bickering where Viktor retaliates to the bait, lip trembling as he defends himself with  _ gusto _ .

"My Yuuri doesn't think I'm a nobody," he huffs, crossing his arms. It's typical, really, for Viktor to set up an intervention for someone else and then ending up being the centre of attention himself.

"Your Yuuri also said to do this in  _ private."  _ And there's the final nail in their coffin of shame, Katsuki Yuuri holding a bag of their laundry with a very specific notepad clenched in his free hand.

"Is that...?" Otabek starts, and Yuri can feel the blood draining from his body.

"Yup." His eyes flick to the ceiling, and he prays for a quick and painless death.

It doesn't come.

"We found this in your laundry," Yuuri begins, handing the bag back to Yuri but keeping the notepad- flipped open, Yuri notices with a sickening lurch in his stomach- clutched to his chest. "They're clean, by the way."

"My mind sure isn't," Mila remarks, and Viktor has to bite back a laugh. 

"It's okay to want to experiment," Yuuri continues, ignoring the childish behaviour behind him. He hands the book back as a peace offering and smiles coyly at them. "Just maybe take a few precautions in the future."

"Yes, we've learnt that lesson already," Yuri grumbles, burying it deep within the fresh linen. And then begrudgingly, because he did manage to salvage his Versace, "Thank you."

"I took the liberty of crossing off food play for you," Viktor comments after everyone's dispersed and Yuri's shoving everything into his training bag. "Nice doodle, by the way. My Yuuri prefers strawberries when we-"

"Okay, shut the fuck up," Yuri grumbles, and thankfully this time Viktor takes the hint and disappears off to his husband's side. He has to take a minute to sulk on the bleachers, head cradled in his hands as he breathes deeply. Otabek doesn't join him in his meltdown, but he does wait by his side.

"I have something that'll make you feel better," he says once Yuri's finally calm enough to look up. He lifts the hem of his shirt, and yes, okay Otabek's abs do make him feel better- but then he sees it, dark green and frilly, poking out just above the waistband of his training leggings. 

"You kinky fucker," Yuri breathes, skimming his thumb over the silky fabric and accepting a kiss that leaves him breathless. "You're gonna regret that by the end of the day."

"I doubt it," Otabek says, helping Yuri to his feet, "And even if I did, it'd be worth it to cheer you up."

"Fucking sap," Yuri says, but he can't deny that it's made him feel better.

He spends the day smiling to himself, ignoring the insinuating remarks thrown his way and wondering whether Otabek's wincing is because of his old man joints or the unforgiving fabric wedged up his ass every time he jumps. There isn't any lingering shame, he's almost surprised to find, and it's purely because there's nothing about his love for Otabek that  _ is _ shameful. How they decide to share it and show it is between them. So what if the world knows he's eaten melted chocolate off of his boyfriend's chest? What matters is that he's the only one  _ allowed _ to. People can speculate, can throw judgement and unwanted wisdom their way, but the only thing that matters is how Yuri feels, falling asleep in Otabek's arms.

So they keep the list but make sure it stays secure in their bedside drawer, and when one day Otabek adds  _ getting married _ next to a little sketch of a diamond ring, Yuri realises that he doesn't regret a thing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is one of my fav things i've ever written- i hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> i miss otayuri so much, maybe this will be the kick i need to get back into writing them.
> 
> let me know what y'all think!
> 
> find me here:
> 
> [ zeldaismyhomegirl](http://zeldaismyhomegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> [ @ItsCatAvalon](http://twitter.com/ItsCatAvalon)  
> xoxo cat


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